Love Is Not A Victory March
by ShesAGent
Summary: After 5 years, Naomi and Emily reunite outside a London flat.
1. Chapter 1

_I've seen your flag on the marble arch_

 _Love is not a victory march_

 _It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah_

* * *

"Fucking hell. Do we really need to go out tonight?" you moan while trying to wiggle skinny jeans over your hips.

"Naomi, hurry up. We're already late." Effy doesn't so much as look in your direction, preferring to finish her cigarette at your window seat uninterrupted.

You roll your eyes as you slip on your heels and swing open the front door. "Well, we better get to it then, yeah?" Effy flicks her cigarette out the window and struts passed you out the door, not bothering to wait for you to lock up. You rush down the steps, muttering to yourself as you try to shove the damn keys into your purse. As you turn the corner of the stairwell, you crash into someone's grocery bags, fruits and vegetables flying through the air.

"Shit! I'm so sorry! I'm such a tit; I didn't see you!" You frantically apologize while getting down on your knees to pick the items off the ground.

"Naomi?" You freeze at the sound of the rasp you know all too well. The voice that, even after years apart, still makes your hairs stand on end. You chance looking up at her, only to find her face inches from your own. Your breath hitches, and you are completely frozen, just left staring at the face you've tried so hard to forget. She holds your eyes, and you no longer can tell if the shallow breaths are coming from you or her.

Effy's curious tone breaks your haze. "Emily!" You both stand, Emily giving her a hug.

"Effy! I didn't even see you! Shit… it's been ages! How are you? What are you doing here?!"

"Could ask the same of you." Effy says, her eyes dancing between you and Emily.

"I… I actually just moved here." She gestures her head towards the door behind you. You vision starts spinning, and you lean against the wall to keep from falling over.

"Interesting." Effy smirks, looking straight at you. "Naomi lives in the flat on the second floor," she looks back at Emily, clearly avoiding the daggers you are shooting at her.

Emily looks at you as she exhales, "Christ, small world." _Too small_ , you think. She continues to look at you, and you look at anything but her. You feel too exposed, so you cross your arms and start gnawing on your bottom lip. Emily notices, picks up her bags and looks back at you as she says, "I should get these inside. Let's get together some time and… catch up. Yeah?"

"Definitely," Effy responds as you both watch Emily open the door to her flat.

As soon as the door closes behind her, Effy spins and walks out of the building. It takes your brain a moment to catch up, and you turn and run after her.

"What the actually _fuck_ was that, Eff?!"

"Welcoming your new neighbor." You don't have to look at her face because you can hear her smirk.

"Why the fuck did you tell her I live here?!"

"Don't you?"

"Fucking hell, Effy! I can't believe you!" Your hands cover your face as you try to process whatever the hell just happened.

"Thought you'd be happy that your soulmate's back in town." This stops you immediately, and you grab her arm to face you.

"She's not my fucking _soulmate_. She fucking _left_ me. Remember that?"

"Yeah. And she's back." Sometimes you wonder why you don't have a more empathetic best mate, just the one who states the obvious. That is, if she speaks at all. Your head rolls back and your close your eyes with a big exhale. "Fuck, Eff. She's back," you whisper. You glance over at her with glassy eyes, fighting back the tears you didn't know you had left.

She slinks her arm around your waist and gives you a squeeze. "Let's get majorly fucked up, yeah?" You give her a small smile and rest your head on her shoulder as you stroll into the night.

You stay the night at Eff's, _obviously_. Don't want to chance another run-in while completely off your tits. The next morning, you treat Effy to brunch and she, in turn, does not talk about the redheaded ghost you encountered the night prior. But by half five, when you are sitting on her couch offering to order take-away and watch a movie, Effy is no longer interested in playing along.

"Can't avoid her forever."

"I'm not!" you yell with complete exasperation. She looks at you pointedly. "I thought I was spending time with my best mate!" To that, she just quirks an eyebrow, and you're infuriated that she assumes to know your intentions better than you.

"Fine! You know what, I'll go home and order a pizza the way _I_ want it, without having to worry about your damn olives contaminating my half. And have a glass of wine, by myself. And watch a movie. _By_. _Myself_." You grab your bag and storm towards the door.

"You could ring your new neighbor," she throws over her shoulder.

"Oh, fuck off," you mutter as you close the door behind you.

Your anger carries you home quickly, but as soon as you reach your block, your pace slows. You wonder if you will run into her tonight. If you'll see her while she is out for a jog, or checking the post. You hope you don't have to see her without having Effy as a buffer. Even then, a part of you wants to see her anyway. That scares you the most.

You take a breath before opening the door into the foyer. It's empty, but you can hear faint sounds coming from the flat by the steps—Emily's flat. For a moment, you're tempted to lean in closer to the sound, to know more—or anything, really—about her now. You stand next to the door, your fist hovering while you consider knocking. You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and walk up the steps to your flat without looking back.


	2. Chapter 2

_When my time comes around_

 _Lay me gently in the cold dark earth_

 _No grave can hold my body down_

 _I'll crawl home to her_

* * *

A huge crash wakes you. It's followed by a scream, which send you up and running down the steps of your building. Because this was not just any scream, but a familiar one you remember from nights snuggled on the couch watching horror movies. You franticly knock on the door and shout, "Are you okay?" before looking down and realizing that you are only in a white vest top and boxers. You consider running back upstairs, but you hear a couple hops and the click of the lock before you can. The door slowly opens as Emily tries to brace herself on one leg between the door and the frame. Seeing her again, although now completely expected, feels just as surreal.

She looks sheepishly up at you as she sputters, "I'm so sorry! I really hope I didn't wake you! It's just that I went to carry my box of pans into the kitchen to make an omelet, and the bottom gave out…" Her explanation trails off due to her attention now directed at your current state of undress. You know this by the way she's trying (and failing) to keep her eyes from roaming across your body. She purses her lips together and you can see the red spreading from her neck and chest.

You try to shift her attention by asking, "What happened to your foot?"

She looks down in embarrassment and mumbles, "It helped cushion the fall?"

"Jesus. Are you alright?" You don't bother waiting for an answer before you've invited yourself in and escorted her to the couch by the arm. You're fetching a bag of peas from the freezer, not yet processing the fact that you've touched her for the first time in years.

You'd like to believe that this friendliness is part your neighborly duty, or, at the very least, a cognitive impairment resulting from a rush of adrenaline and caffeine deficiency. But you also know that this—caring for Emily—always came naturally to you. Whether she cut her finger while cooking dinner or stubbed her toe on the corner table, you were the one who patched her up. So it shouldn't surprise you that, after 5 years without her, the familiar wails elicit the same knee-jerk reaction. But it does surprise you, and you can tell from her expression that it has surprised her too. Which leaves you both in her sitting room in an uncomfortable silence.

"Thanks… you know, for checking on me." She looks small and embarrassed, hunched over with peas on her foot. You anxiously chew at your bottom lip trying to figure out a way to simultaneously reply and end the conversation.

You look at her, and you can tell she's just as nervous as you. "Yeah… well… it's nothing," you shrug.

"I'd offer to put the kettle on, but— "she nods towards her foot.

"Thanks, but I should get going anyway."

"Right." You see a ghost of disappointment behind her nod. "Well, thanks again. For…you know…stopping by."

"Figured that's what neighbors are for, yeah?" You say with a half-smile.

"Yeah. Right." It feels a bit shit regarding her simply as a neighbor, as if her only relation to you is someone who would pick up your mail while you're out on holiday. But to acknowledge anything else feels like the start of much larger conversation, one that you don't think you can manage without yet having a cup of coffee. You give her one last smile before walking back towards her door.

"Naomi—" You close your eyes, because the soft way she says your name feels all too reminiscent of mornings spent together in bed. You stop where you are and turn around, looking at her expectantly.

"It's nice seeing you again." She says with a shy smile.

"Emily—"your ears start ringing, and you can't quite pin down a single emotion, so you've naturally settle on annoyed. She looks hurt, which softens you immediately. "Sorry, it's all just too strange, isn't it?"

She gives you a challenging look. "Naomi. I haven't seen you in 5 years, and I now live in the apartment below you. I don't think strange even begins to cover it." You both laugh, and the air becomes a bit more relaxed.

"Yeah. " You stare at each other, and for a moment you want to give in. You want to kiss her forehead, offer to make a full English breakfast, and spend the afternoon tangled in sheets. But that's an old life. One that she left behind. And that realization is what stops you completely. "I really should get going, though."

"Yeah, of course. Sorry for keeping you." You walk back towards the door.

"By the way—" You stop as you are turning the door handle, wondering if you're ever going to leave this flat. "I'm having a housewarming party tomorrow night–8pm. You should stop by. Bring Effy, too." She looks at you expectantly with big doe eyes, and you wonder if she still knows that look is all you need to be swayed.

"Yeah, sure." Her smug grin confirms what you had suspected.

"Great. See you tomorrow." Her silky rasp makes anything sound like a proposition, and you struggle to not show just how much of an effect it has on you.

"Yeah. See you." You walk back to your flat, rest your head against your closed door and take a deep breath. _Christ, what did I just agree to?_ You head to your room and grab the cell from your nightstand.

 ** _What are you doing tomorrow night? E invited us to her housewarming._**

By your fucked up logic, refusing to call her by her name somehow makes the situation somewhat more manageable. Your phone chimes, and of course Effy is just as non-verbal via text as she is in person.

 ** _?_**

You start chewing on your bottom lip, trying to figure out how to adequately respond when you're trying to figure it out yourself. So you avoid answering her question altogether.

 ** _Are you coming or not?_**

You tap your fingers, waiting for her to either take the piss or further interrogate you. With her, it can go either way.

 ** _Get the wine. Wouldn't want to miss this._**


	3. Chapter 3

_The truth is like blood underneath your fingernails_

 _You don't wanna hurt yourself, hurt yourself_

 _By looking too closely_

* * *

"You sure about that?"

You hear her judgment before seeing it in the reflection of your full-length mirror.

"Jesus, Eff! How the hell did you even get in?!" She responds with a smirk, and continues to watch you from your doorframe.

You're trying to look casual in a loose green scoop-neck tee, your trademark black skinny jeans, and black flats. Your smoky eye shadow and wispy low bun provide a subtle elegance to your look. But then, all it took was four words from Effy to make you question it all.

"Thought you'd want to show off those legs."

You roll your eyes at that. "I'm not trying to show off anything for anyone, Eff."

"Could've fooled me," she quips. You don't bother acknowledging her anymore, and instead chug your wine and put on the finishing touches of your make-up. You hear the flicks of her lighter behind you, and sigh with relief that she'll leave you alone. At least, for a bit.

While eying yourself in the mirror, you say under your breath, "I don't even know why I agreed to go."

"Because you want to see her," you hear from behind you. _That was a short-lived reprieve,_ you think. You quickly regret inviting Effy along.

"Don't make this into something more than it is."

Without missing a beat, she challenges, "What _is_ it?"

" _Nothing_! Christ. Just leave it, Eff. Yeah?"

"We need to get you laid quicker than I thought. Moody bitch." She smirks, and you are completely exasperated. You grab your keys and wine bottle and head toward the door.

You stomp down to Emily's door, but once you're faced with it, you question whether you can go through with it—seeing her again in so many days. After so many _years_. Effy slinks up next you, giving you a challenging brow. Out of sheer annoyance, you quickly knock. But all anger leaves you the moment Emily opens the door. She's in a simple black vest top, skinny jeans, and black boots, her fiery red hair pinned up into a pompadour. You immediately wish you had shown off your legs after all.

"You made it!" She leans forward and kisses you both on the cheek. The contact renders you speechless and you stand there incapable of simple automatic processes, like breathing. "Come in! There are some cheese and crackers in the living room, and wine in the kitchen. Help yourselves."

You remember the gift in your hand and lunge the bottle towards her. "Oh, here! Just a little gift to welcome you to the neighborhood," you sputter. You faintly hear Effy's snort behind you, but Emily graciously receives the present and smiles up at you.

"Thanks! That's really sweet of you, Naoms." She locks eyes at you, fully aware of the old pet name that so easily rolled off her tongue. You hope to God that the heat registering on your neck is not actually visible. You give her a small smile, and turn towards Effy. "Wine?"

"Would love some, _Naoms_." You roll your eyes. _Always taking the fucking piss._

You emerge from the kitchen and hand Effy her glass of white wine. You perch yourself on the arm of the couch, actively trying to not chug your glass, and instead listen to Effy's recap of life as a record store owner.

"…listening to pretentious hipster knobs discuss the appropriation of 'Memphis Soul.' Sometimes I wish I could just get paid to listen to my records in peace." As Emily expresses how fitting this line of work is for her, Effy eyes you. "Ah, well, not all of us are made out to be saints, are we, _hon_?" She affectionately places her hand on your knee.

Emily looks at you curiously. "Oh… I—I didn't realize you two were together." You can hear the faint disappointment in her voice, and it warms you.

"What?! Us? No!" You counter quickly. "Christ, _no_."

"Oh, sorry. I just thought—"

Effy is quick to clarify, "Oh, no. No one has been able to tie her down for _ages_." The conversation dies down for a moment. You're trying to understand what Effy's playing at, but you think you know if the relief on Emily's face is anything to go by.

"So Naomi—what is it that you do now?" Emily asks you.

"I work as an advocate for foster children. You know, provide support and resources so they don't have to navigate a fucked up and already isolating system on their own. Mostly case management and some outreach." Emily's eyes are shining at you as you speak. It becomes too much, so you look away.

"What about you? What brings you back to good ol' Londontown?" Effy asks Emily.

"Well, I've been working as a part-time photographer for a local pin-up studio, but spend most of my week nights bartending at a speakeasy on Brick Lane." You can imagine how sexy she would look in both of these roles, but talk of work—particularly her work—hits a nerve you didn't think was still exposed. You can feel Emily's eyes on you, and you struggle to keep your face interested at best or neutral at the very least.

You need to get out of your own head, so stand up and reach for your carton of cigarettes in your back pocket. "I'll just be a tick," shaking the box for emphasis. Emily gives you an apologetic smile and Effy quirks her brow at you.

You quickly stride out the building, gulping the fresh air and trying to take deep breaths. _Fuck's sake_ , you think. You click your lighter, and inhale. You relax your back against the brick building. The nicotine relieves your tension immediately. But this, like much of your peace as of late, is short-lived.

"Mind if I nick one?" Although you've heard it just moments ago, her voice still makes you tremble. You hand her one, and offer a light. You are acutely aware of the proximity of her face to yours, which is further heightened by the focus on her lips. You can't help but stare intently as she smirks up at you and she exhales smoke. You clear your throat and look away.

"Shouldn't you be—you know— _hosting_?"

"Yeah, well, in the time you left Effy all by her lonesome, she managed to persuade the guys to turn the party into a vodka-fueled rager. They are taking shots as we speak."

At that, you scoff. "Can't imagine she needed to do much persuading." She playfully smacks your arm as you both laugh, and you can see her smile reaching her eyes. For a moment, you feel like you are back at Sarah Belmont's party in middle school. Both of you, leant against the building, sharing a smoke and light banter, with Emily's eyes shining up at you. You feel the air around you getting thinner, your legs feeling just as unsteady as they were that fateful night you shared your first kiss.

"Naomi." She says softly, almost a whisper, and you have to clench your eyes shut at the sound. You can feel her body shift next to you, her shoulder leaning against the brick as she faces you. You feel her fingers graze the insides of your forearms, which are resting stiff at your sides. Your heart starts racing, and the tingling sensation from your arms immediately spreads throughout your body.

"Naoms, I've missed you," she whimpers. Your heads starts racing and you swear you are about to faint. You weren't expecting this, at least not tonight. And you don't know what to feel, so as per, you try to shut it all down.

"Emily. Don't do this." You hope you sound more confident than you actually feel.

"I just—I just want to tell you I'm sorry about what happened—you know—before. It was complete shit—"

"Yeah, it was." You retort. You feel the pain bubbling back up again, and can no longer stop it from exploding.

"I just hope—" you hear you choke out, but it doesn't stop the eruption of anger.

"What? You hope that now that we're living in the same building things can magically go back to the way they were? It doesn't fucking work like that. Things don't work on your timeline. It didn't then, and it doesn't now." You're so angry, but you also can't stop the tears that are now falling. You see her eyes watering, her lips pursed together to keep the bottom lip from quivering. You didn't want this to happen right now. Not like this.

You turn your head away from her and quietly state, "You should get back to your party, and I should go back to my flat. Goodnight, Emily." You stamp it out your cigarette against the brick and walk away.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: Thank you all for your support and encouragement. I apologize for the delay; this was a particularly painful chapter to write, and it was important for me to get it right. Hope it begins to answer some of your questions.

* * *

 _Thought of you, and where you'd gone_

 _And the world spins madly on_

* * *

Naomi, forever ago

 _You walk up to your front door just before 9pm, arriving home later than usual from your clinical placement. You've been assigned to do counseling at a women's shelter, and the constant stream of walk-ins and emergencies are taking a toll. You've become angry (or rather, angrier) at the injustice of the world, and this is what you attribute to your recent sensitivity to—well—everything._

 _You unlock the door, only to find it empty and in complete darkness. You pull your phone out from your bag, wondering if you missed a text from Emily. Nothing. You call her mobile, and after a few rings, it goes straight to voicemail. A message pops up._

 **Hey babe, got called in for an extra shift. Won't be home til late. Xoxo**

 _You roll your eyes, because this is not what you were expecting tonight. Emily promised a night at home with wine and a home cooked meal. She had recently taken a bartending job for extra cash to buy better camera equipment, a position that was only supposed to be part-time and temporary. Now, she works most weeknights on top of photography gigs all weekend._

 _This dynamic worked in your favor in the height of clinicals and coursework. You could focus your energy into the demanding semester and the women you want so badly to help. You didn't have to spend much of your energy trying to be okay for Emily. Now, with demands winding down, you've realized you don't actually know what is going on in her life, or she yours. You realize how lonely you've actually been, and how not having her around to get you out of your own head has probably contributed to your rapid burnout._

 _Despite your inclinations to avoid talking about your feelings, your master's in Social Work has definitely taught you otherwise. So you try to test the waters one morning while fixing your bowl of cereal, breakfast being the only meal you share together these days._

 _"You should see if you could cut back some hours. You must have enough to get those lenses you want." You say over your shoulder, having more courage to open up when not looking directly at her._

 _"Naoms, I can't, you know that. I need this job. I'm trying to save up for multiple lenses_ and _to rent studio space."_

 _"I get that, and I support what you want to do. I just… I just don't want to lose this in the process." You say, pointing between you two as you sit down next to her at the kitchen table. She can tell it is really bothering you by the way you swirl your cereal and gnaw at your bottom lip. She stands up in front of you, places her legs on each side of your waist, and runs her hands behind your neck._

 _"Hey" she whispers._

 _"I just don't see you anymore…" You feel your voice crack, and you look anywhere but at her. In response, she gently runs her hands towards your cheeks, where she grabs ahold of your attention._

 _"It's just for a bit, yeah? I know it's inconvenient right now, but we're stronger than this. We'll be okay." You chew on your bottom lip, debating whether to press the matter further. Because, yes, you have felt incredibly lonely. But, you are Naomi and Emily; you've been through hell and back. And with that, you give in and give her a reassuring nod and kiss. You quickly realize how much you've missed this affection, so you stand up, keeping her legs wrapped around you and your arms around her waist. She yelps in surprise, and you both giggle and share urgent kisses as you carry her into your room._

 _And that is the last time you bring it up. So it goes on like this for a bit. For 2 years, actually. Until one day it doesn't._

* * *

 _She had a series of wedding gigs in Bristol and decided to move back home for a few months to save money rather than commute. You weren't thrilled about this plan, but you accepted it. The loneliness that had been eating at you has become your new normal. Besides, she planned on returning in a month, just in time for Christmas._

 _But more gigs came up, and Christmas was instead spent getting drunk off your tits with Effy, who had recently relocated to London. She provided much a needed distraction by way of alcohol and dancing. And it was at the bar on Christmas, where the two of you were bellowing Christmas carols, when Sofia walked up to your side. The two of you worked at the women's clinic together, having spent many days commiserating about the difficulty of your work and discussing the wider problem of violence against women. As she threw flirty glances your way and affectionately placed her hand on your arm as she laughed at your jokes, you realized just how painful the loneliness had become._

 _After Christmas, there was still no sign of Emily returning, and she had since taken up another part-time job bartending at Fishpond's. Her communication went from sporatic to non-existent. You continue to go out with Effy, although now nights were quickly filled with Effy_ and _Sofia. After one particular evening, you give in to Sofia's advances, and kiss her. It feels like a flood of emotion and desire after years of loneliness. You feel a bit angry at Emily for making you feel this way, and convince yourself that you are justified to have acted out. But the guilt eats away at you, so that when she took the train up the following weekend, you confess._

 _"How fucking dare you!" Emily yells, stomping through the apartment packing up her clothes._

 _"I'm sorry! It meant nothing! You've disappeared, and she was being flirty, and I just didn't want to feel alone for once." You sob while perched on the side of your bed, helplessly watching Emily pack up her things._

 _"Oh, so this is my fault? How fucking mature, Naomi."_

 _Spinning further out of control, you stand up and reach out for her arms. She tries to tear them away, her tearful eyes glaring at you. But you hold on tightly to her wrists so that she looks at you. "I'm sorry! It was a stupid mistake. I love YOU. Can't you see that I just want us to be together? I want to have you in my life! All day, everyday. Not when it's fucking convenient for your work. Please, Ems. All I ever wanted was US."_

 _"You have a funny way of showing that" she seethes through clenched teeth. She quietly walks to her side of her bed, and buries her face into her pillow. You hear her muffled sobs, and don't know whether you have the right to console her. But you want her to know that you want this. So you lay down next to her, stroke her hair, and kiss her head as you whisper, "I'm so sorry. I love you, Ems. I love you."_

 _She takes the train back to Bristol the following morning. You both agree that you still want to make things work. Em just needs some time and space to heal from what feels like a huge betrayal. You agree, and accept the consequences to your own actions._

* * *

 _You send love letters to her regularly via email, text, or through the post. You tell her how much you love her, how beautiful she is, how much you miss her. You receive a message after midnight each day, and it is a simple and reassuring, "I love you, too, Naoms."_

 _After two weeks, Emily's messages are less consistent and affectionate. They are often apologies for getting out late or missing a Skype date because of an extra shift. You want to give her the space she needs, but are angry that she is even more distant than before._

 _You spend an entire month just waiting for a phone call or a loving message. It doesn't come. You continue to keep the loneliness at bay through frequent nights out with Effy, and only Effy. One night, as you both stumble home, the laughter dies down between you, and you speak what you've refused to accept for so long._

 _"I can't fucking do this anymore," you whisper._

 _Effy does not respond immediately, instead choosing this moment to click her lighter and exhale a cloud of smoke. She does not even have to ask you to clarify, because it was clear these nights were a response to Emily, or a lack thereof. She watches you as you continue looking down the street, trying to work things out in your brain._

 _"I fucking… I can't." You shake your head._

 _"So tell her." Your eyes dart toward hers, which are sad. And that is what does you in. Because you thought this would work, that an end wasn't inevitable. But it was, this being clear to the one person who knows you best._

 _The tears start pouring down your face, and everything you've been pushing away for so long bursts through your chest. You're left sobbing uncontrollably on the sidewalk, just blocks from the home you once shared with her._

 _You spend the next two weeks trying to get ahold of her, but to no avail. Frustrated, you shoot her a text. You just want a reaction or a response. Anything._

 **Em, this is fucking ridiculous. I haven't even heard your voice in a month. This can't work this way. This is done.**

 _You don't fully mean it. As you wait for a response, you imagine a million different scenarios of how this will play out. The most likely one being her panicking, and making promises to be better. To hear her say, "We're Naomi and Emily. We're stronger than this."_

 _Her response arrives via text shortly after 1:30am._

 **You're right. I want to forgive you, but I can't. I'm sorry.**


	5. Chapter 5

_Although time may take us into different places_

 _I will still be patient with you_

 _And I hope you know_

 _I won't let go_

* * *

You glance at the building number and look back down at your cell. Your phone notifies you that you have arrived at _Apples and Pears_ , which, from the outside, looks like any other dingy pub. But you walk in, and are immediately captivated by the exposed brick, beams, and industrial décor. You grab a seat at the bar and type a quick text of your arrival.

"Care for a menu?" The raspy voice is all too familiar, and it jolts your attention away from your phone.

"Shit—Emily. Why—I mean, what- are you doing here?!" You stumble. She places a napkin in front of you with a smirk.

"Effy didn't tell you, then?"

"Tell me what?"

"That I work here."

"And how the fuck would she know _that_?"

"She is a regular." Emily smirks.

Then it clicks. You asked Effy for a date spot suggestion, and she suggested this. _Fucking hell_ , you think.

"So what brings you here tonight?" Emily leans forward, elbows on the bar, making it hard not to stare at her chest.

"I—uh—actually…"

"Naomi?" Your attention shifts to the hand on your shoulder.

"Melissa! Hi!" You turn to hug your date. You immediately freeze as you look between Emily and Melissa, unsure how to handle introductions.

"Hi, care for a pint?" Emily asks, without missing a beat. And your grateful that she doesn't try to make this harder for you.

"I'll actually have a skinny margarita. Thanks."

Emily nods and catches your eye, clearly suppressing a laugh.

"And you, Naoms? Vodka tonic?" She eyes you, her familiarity piercing you.

"Uhh... yes… please. With lime."

"Course."

As Em turns around, you force your attention to the person sitting next to you.

"Is she your mate?" She asks, nodding her head towards the redhead.

"Uhh... yeah. From college." Your gaze moves towards Emily, and you watch her, in her black vest top, as her exposed shoulders flex while she shakes the cocktails.

Melissa clears her throat, redirecting your attention back to her. You both begin an easy conversation about your interests and hobbies. Emily coyly hovers, always staying within earshot. This makes you uneasy, and as a result, extremely miffed. You feign interest as Melissa talks about her position as a marketing director, and you struggle to sympathize with her frustration about an earlier spat at a board meeting. When the conversation transitions to your work, you find it difficult to describe your job without creating a gloomy cloud on the conversation. You're incredibly passionate about the work you do, and yet, you've come to realize that the constant theme of heartbreak and loss surrounding your work makes polite conversations much more intense. Once Melissa attempts to sympathize with you, you've realize how quickly your agitation had escalated.

"It's so sad that people who aren't ready to have kids have them anyway, and be so irresponsible. It must be so frustrating to witness that." Although this is not a new misconception, you are annoyed you have to educate her during your date, and can't seem to control your temper.

" _Actually_ , I think a large part of this has to do with systemic cuts to reproductive services and education, disparities in unemployment and income, and lack of public services. I'm often faced with children whose parents _want_ to care for them but don't have the resources," you say, the annoyance clear in your tone.

"Right. It's just sad they had the kids knowing they can't actually take care of them or assuming the government will help them out."

"Not all pregnancies are planned. And even when they are, people can still lose their jobs. And unless your parents are a couple of rich blokes, you're fucked!" You state, throwing your hands in the air in exasperation.

"This is becoming too serious, how about we talk about something a bit more... lighthearted?" You realize your anger has already bubbled over, despite your attempts to regulate your breathing. Before you can stop yourself, you lash out.

"You having a laugh? This is my _WORK_. These are people's _LIVES_. Not some bloody conversation piece," you sneer. She's clearly taken aback and uncomfortable, but you make no indication of an apology.

She looks down and says quietly, "You know, I'm a bit knackered." She grabs her purse as she stands from her stool. "I think I'm going to head back to my flat. Have a good night, Naomi." She gives your arm a light squeeze while she kisses your cheek, and then walks out.

You glare down at your drink, your rage continuing to course through your body. _Tosser_ , you think.

"So... not a goer, then?" You snap up to see Emily's cheeky grin.

"Christ. That's none of your business." She looks hurt by your harsh tone, but quickly recovers.

"Don't worry, _hun_. Anyone who orders a skinny margarita _clearly_ isn't worthy of your time." She winks, and you roll your eyes in response. She bites her lip to keep from grinning, and you can't help but stare at our mouth. And she notices. She hands you another drink, and leaves you to cool down.

 **The date was complete rubbish** , you text Effy.

 **Too bad there isn't someone around to mend your broken heart** , she quips.

You roll your eyes, but chance a glance up at Emily. She's talking to another customer across the bar, and you watch her throw her head back in laughter. You can't help but think that it's the most beautiful she's ever looked. She glances your way, and you quickly look down at your glass.

"Dammit," you whisper to yourself. You can see her walking back towards you out of the corner of your eye.

"I finish up in 15. Want to walk back together?" She begins to clear away abandoned pints, and you sense a hint of nervousness behind her request.

You squint your eyes up at her while you bite your bottom lip in thought. You take a resigned breath in, and exhale, "Yeah, sure. Just top me off."

* * *

Your footsteps on the pavement and a siren in the distance are the only sounds filling the space between you and Emily. You fumble into your pockets and light a fag without even realizing, your mind too distracted by the person walking next to you. Too distracted by proximity of her arm to yours, and the occasional bump against her that stiffens you on contact.

"Sorry your date was a twat," she tries to casually interject. Caught off guard by her voice, you choke on your inhale.

"Yeah," you say simply.

"I'm glad you came in though." She looks at you and gives you a small smile. Your chest flutters at her genuine happiness, and you have to look away to be able to speak again.

"I can't believe Eff set me up like that…" you roll your eyes and shake your head. Emily's laugh juts out in amusement.

"That _is_ a very Effy thing to do."

"She's a fucking twat."

Emily laughs at your childish reaction. "She's quite hilarious," she says with amusement.

"Because she cocks up my dates?!" you exclaim, throwing your hands up in frustration.

"Naoms, you're good all by yourself." She playful winks at you, and you can't even be mad at that.

"Yeah, well-she's still a twat." You say petulantly. The walk goes quiet for a bit, but you break the silence cautiously. "What about you?"

"What _about_ me? Am I still a twat?!" She laughs, confusedly.

"No! Are you… dating... anyone, I mean?" You're unsure how far you want to tread on this (or any topic, rather) with her, but your curiosity has been slowly eating away at you. You chance a sideways glance and see that she's chewing on her bottom lip.

"Not any one serious," she shrugs. Your mind starts racing about what she means. Is she shagging people? You wonder who and how many, and whether you unwittingly met one of them at her party. She must have noticed your brain swirling with questions because she interjects, "I mostly go on dates to help keep myself a bit sane, not because I've met anyone I want to be with."

"What do you mean?"

She looks up at you hesitantly and takes a breath in. "I mean… you know more than anyone that I can get lost in my work…" She says slowly, and you start to stiffen at the hint of the breakup. She continues, "After things ended with us, I just fully threw myself into my work. I figured if I lost you over it, I needed something to show for it. After a year, it all caught up with me. I was constantly sick, I was isolated from friends and family, and I was severely depressed. I stopped showing up to work because I couldn't get out of bed; I just wanted to stay home and cry all day." Her voice softened, and you look over at her, worry etched across your face. "My assistant—a bloody saint, her- rearranged appointments or found photographers to cover my events. After two weeks, she came over to my flat. Apparently this happened to her mum ages ago. Nothing specific triggered it, she was just bedridden and depressed. Her mum had to admit herself into an inpatient unit. They put her on pills, set her up with a therapist. It took a few months for her to bounce back, but she improved. So I did the same."

She goes quiet, and you're at loss of words. You didn't realize how bad things got for her. You're sad—and a bit guilty—you weren't there for her.

"It took me a while, too, but the pills helped me rather quickly. I responded well to the first dose and I was able to return to work so I didn't lose my job. And I eventually found a therapist I liked. We talked about how work was a way I avoided stress or sadness, and how it became a cycle that made the sadness worse. I can talk myself into needing to work to save for some new equipment or to save just in case. My parents' bankruptcy just really did a number on me, but I didn't recognize it until I was in complete shambles." She glances at you, but your brow is furrowed in thought and you're busy chewing on your bottom lip.

"It was hard for a while. It's not like I could bugger off of work. So I've had to consciously plan my weeks so I'm not overworking. I now have dinner at least twice a week with friends. That way I'm staying connected with people, and my friends know to call me out if I try to reschedule. And I know that if I even try to reschedule plans, it's a sign I need to check back in. Luckily, I've gotten so many clients through this pinup shop, my next goal is to quit the bartending job in a few weeks."

You reach your building, but you both quietly stand at the foot of the stairs. You're left stunned and trying to reconcile your resentment towards her while knowing that this ultimately left her in pieces. As if she could read your mind (because she always claimed she could), she gently grabs your arm for your attention.

"Although I've sorted what happened to me, it doesn't undo what I did. It wasn't fair to you. I'm so sorry." She looks up at you with big pleading eyes. You lock eyes, and feel the tears prickling the sides of your lids. You take in a big sigh and look away, fighting back the tears. She gently places her hands on your cheeks, but you can't look at her. You don't want her to see you cry.

"I'm so sorry I hurt you," she nearly whispers.

Your tears stream down your face against your own volition, and you muffle a sob that tries to escape. She pulls you into her shoulder, and it's the familiarity and security does you in. You wrap your arms around her and sob into her shoulder. She runs her fingers through your hair and rubs your back as the pain you've carried for years slowly leaves you with each tear.

She gently says into your ear, "Come on. I'll put on the kettle." You nod into her shoulder, and she kisses your temple before turning away to open her door. You follow her into the darkened apartment, feeling lighter than you have felt in years.


End file.
